


headspace

by freezingsheep



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Eating Disorders, F/F, my computer doesnt do the accented e's im just coming to realize, oh well;; enjoy the emotional hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 17:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezingsheep/pseuds/freezingsheep
Summary: Her mouth goes dry and fills with potential lies ready to spill forth. Her body shudders, snow resting wet and heavy on her shoulders. “You saw me?” she mutters, bitter, scared.





	headspace

**Author's Note:**

> tiny vent fic so i can get back to writing at least semi-happy things

Aquaria doesn’t skip meals anymore.

At least, not intentionally. Sometimes she wakes up too late for breakfast. Sometimes she’s too busy for lunch. Sometimes she doesn’t want to meet Brianna’s prodding gaze across the table, or hear Kameron’s gentle murmurings of  _ “One more bite.” _

Sometimes, she would rather just hide.

Wrapped in a blanket, tucked away in her room; music pounding through her headphones and muting the sound of knocks at her locked door. Aquaria scrolls through picture after picture of ribby, glass-eyed models, basking in the envy. And, idly sipping at some stale water, she contemplates tomorrow’s excuses.

Too tired. In a rush. Piles of work. Ate out.

So, maybe it is intentional. Maybe she is skipping meals. Maybe she is falling back down this crumbling cliff she’s worked so hard to scale. Maybe, just maybe, she wants the ocean to swallow her this time. Or at least give her a thigh gap.

She doesn’t know when the thoughts came back. These icy, fogging thoughts of sharp collar bones and skeletal fingers. Blizzards rage behind her confident exterior, and ‘progress’ doesn’t feel particularly warm at this point. Talking to the girls won’t heal her frostbitten skin. Three meals a day won’t pull her from the freezing water. Why should she bother? Why not just accept it?

The blanket falls from her shoulders, her music becomes a roar, and the first few layers of her skin begin to die. It splits dry around her veins and she swears they’re frozen solid. Blue, stiff, cold. They could probably snap with the slightest pressure, a dangerous thought that shivers through her whole being and draws her fingers to rest on her wrist, dancing.  

The models fade to weight loss tips. The tips fade to other’s breakdowns. The breakdowns fade to thoughts of a light, airy girl that Aquaria knows all too intimately. 

She has danced with Ana more than once, has fallen into her embrace and listened to her sweet, fatal nothings. Some days, Ana comes to her, taking Aquaria’s hands and waltzing into the snowfall, grip tight. Other times, like today, Aquaria seeks her out.

Breakfast this morning was a packet of splenda. Lunch was cigarette smoke. Dinner is dust, water, and  _ “nothing tastes like skinny feels.”   _ She’ll be so light on her feet tonight. 

Thoughts of ice and a one-two-three beat are suddenly interrupted by a hand reaching over Aquaria’s head to snatch her phone. She whirls around as her earbuds are pulled away, and tries to ignore the dizziness that follows the action, her ears ringing.

Monet takes one look at the word ‘proana’ typed into the search bar and slips Aquaria’s phone into her pocket, frowning. “You shouldn’t be looking at that stuff, Aqua.”

“How did you get in?” Aquaria responds, both out of surprise and an intense desire to derail the conversation she knows is coming.

The door is still closed, though the lock has been turned. Monet holds up a slightly mangled bobby pin, pocketing it too as she steps closer. Aquaria can feel the heat from her skin without even touching it, and when Monet lays a hand on her shoulder, it  _ burns.  _ “I picked the lock,” she sighs. “Come talk to me for a minute.”

Aquaria doesn’t want to talk. She just wants to refreeze the now molten candle skin, let it dry up until it’s brittle enough to fall away and leave her as a perfect, thin skeleton. Besides, Ana won’t show if someone else is around.

She shrugs Monet’s hand away, but doesn’t complain when the girl sits down beside her. She has her knees pulled up against her chest now. If she makes herself small, she might disappear, and Monet might leave her be. She curls up tight enough to crack one of her shoulders, pointedly avoiding the girl's stare

Monet’s voice is low and even, not unlike a mother attempting to soothe their upset child. “What have you eaten today?”

That goddamn question. That goddamn tone. She opens her mouth to answer, but Monet holds up a hand to interrupt.

“What have you eaten besides packaged sugar alternative,” she specifies, and Aquaria’s small, empty stomach drops.

Her mouth goes dry and fills with potential lies ready to spill forth. Her body shudders, snow resting wet and heavy on her shoulders. “You saw me?” she mutters, bitter, scared. She drums her fingers along the tops of her knuckles. One, two, three, “ _ you’re hideous.” _ One, two, three, “ _ she hates you.” _

“I did. Answer the question, baby.”

Aquaria hates it when Monet calls her that. It’s pure fucking weakness, searing heat, and she melts every time. She buries her head in her arms. “Nothing.” A beat of silence. Two. Three. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Monet shifts, and for a second Aquaria thinks she’s going to leave. She would’ve been excited by the thought just minutes ago, but now she knows that she’ll break the moment she’s alone again. She knows Ana will want to dance the moment she’s alone again. 

She doesn’t know why she’s afraid of it now, when she’s been begging for it all day. She’s foolish, and selfish, and starting to go numb.

Soft hands brush against her cheeks, off-rhythm, gently lifting her face. “Look at me,” Monet murmurs, and it takes all of Aquaria’s willpower to meet her gaze; shame pooling in her throat like acid. “I’m not mad at you, baby. I’m just worried.”

Water drips from her chin, and Aquaria isn’t sure if it’s tears or melting ice. Monet’s hands are warm, concerned eyes a light amidst the blowing snow and sleet. Truth oozes between her chattering teeth. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I don’t know why I wanted it- I just- I… I-” Communicating has never been Aquaria’s strong suit, and it gets even worse when she’s upset.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Monet shushes, stroking some hair from the girl’s face. “It’s okay. Just try to relax for a second, yeah?" 

Aquaria nods, letting slip a whimper that somehow makes her feel even more pathetic. One, two, three,  _ “you’re disgusting.”  _ One, two, three,  _ “she’s going to leave.” _

Monet has seen her like this once or twice before, heard stories from Brianna, gotten emergency texts from Asia. Aquaria likes to keep everything but her bravado on the inside, and she can’t stand showing any form of fear in front of others. When she gets to this point, she needs a distraction more than a lecture. 

So Monet rises, pulls Aquaria up and into her arms, and this time, Aquaria doesn't fight it. She leans into the touch, steam rolling from her melting body in waves, and the longer she stays in the girl's arms the more liquid she becomes. 

Monet starts to hum a cheerful tune Aquaria thinks she might recognize, but can't quite name. They sway together, slowly at first, but picking up speed as Monet continues her song.

"What… what are we doing?" Aquaria asks, her voice raw. Monet grins and spins them both around, laughing at the way Aquaria squeaks and grips a little tighter.

"We're dancing."

"Dancing?"

"What, I thought you liked to dance." Monet gives another laugh before settling back into her humming. She goes by fours, which makes it impossible for Aquaria's waltzing thoughts to stay on track, and she finds she doesn't really mind. 

She lets Monet lead her around the room, steps soft and hands intertwined. At some point, she closes her eyes, and focuses more on Monet's voice and warmth than their dance. 

Monet brings them to a stop, brushing her fingers across Aquaria's cheek. "You tired, baby?" 

Aquaria heaves a sigh and realizes, yes, she's  _ exhausted. _ She makes a noise of affirmation, staring starry-eyed as Monet sits her down on the bed. She blinks once. Twice. "Thank you," she murmurs, still holding one of the girl's hands, giving it a grateful squeeze. 

"No need to thank me," Monet huffs, out of breath. "Thank Dusty. She's the one who taught me how to pick locks." 

Aquaria laughs at that, and Monet gives her a bright smile in return, content with the change in mood. She leans down to kiss Aquaria's forehead, lightens the snowfall, and chases Ana away for the night. 


End file.
